The Last Things

Two weeks of WWOOFing later, I find myself Thursday morning in a Dublin hostel, awaiting my Aircoach bus back to Cork City. There, I pick up the suitcase I left at the Tourist Information office two weeks ago, do some last minute shopping for the fam (yes, I think I can manage to bring you back some porridge oats, because it seems oats in the US *just don't taste the same*), stock up on a lifetime supply of digestive biscuits (I say for other people...we'll see if they last the flight), and go running through my Cork walking path one last time. Tomorrow is an early 5 am start to catch 3 connecting flights, which should, if everything goes smoothly, put me back in the States by tomorrow evening.

Hands down, I am really excited to see my family. It's been over 5 months since I've seen them and over two weeks since I've talked with them by any other means save email to let them know I'm still in fact alive. Which, I suppose, way back when would have been quite a lot of communication when it now seems like little. In any case, at the same time, I will miss adventuring abroad and all of the wonderful people who have made my time away such a fantastic experience. Thank you all! And to those back home, I am looking forward to seeing you soon!

WWOOFing it in Sweden

Bataholms Gard, Laholm, Sweden

Results of WWOOFing, Week 1:

1 splendidly weeded potato patch

1 tar-painted wooden block 

15 kilos of honey

1 sheep pen

1 cleared sheep pasture

7 happy cows (the oreo kind)

1 sore old grandma

and 2 damn fine piles of wood

The sore old grandma, of course, is myself. Kind of like after going to the gym that first time, every day here I wake up and stumble my way through morning chores nursing the results of the previous day. I've been at Bataholms Gard for a full week and must say that I am pretty proud of my work, particularly my artful and impressive piles of wood. Down by the lake (yes, Bataholms Gard has half of a lake on its property which is the perfect temperature for swimming and is clean enough to drink from), I am working with two other WWOOFers to clear the area of trees and debris that fell during Sweden's winter storms. In a couple weeks, our hosts are going to bring the sheep down to pasture. By next year, grass will cover the area once blanketed with pine needles, carefully cleared and raked by yours truly.

Figure A: Wood Pile 1

Figure B: Wood Pile 2 (Now twice this size)

In any case, I am genuinely glad to be here. I had no idea what to expect, yet I cannot imagine getting luckier. To start, our hosts are both fabulous. I am potentially eating better than I have throughout my entire time in Europe and the accommodation is terrific. The WWOOFers live in a separate cottage on the farm with its own kitchen and bathroom. I have my own comfy bed to sleep in at night and I feel relatively safe. What's more, we are on the West Coast of Sweden, which means that if I get bitten by a tick (and I did, two days ago...wait, and also yesterday, and also today), I probably don't have to worry about my brain turning to mush from Tick-Borne Encephalitis. Those ticks, apparently, only hang out on the East Coast.

WWOOFing Accommodation

I could write a long post about every day here, but I suppose that's not what either of us wants to do (I write it, you read it). So, I suppose I'll describe the highlights. Every morning and evening, I circumnavigate the farm to walk out to the cows, where I then count them (hopefully there are 7), check the voltage in the electric fence (not with my bare hand--that's only happened a handful of times, once with my forehead), check the water tubs, and then check the pressure in the water pumps. That takes about 40 minutes. Then, I usually go down to the lake to clear the sheep pasture. I now have a slightly unhealthy obsession with piling wood, meaning I really want to get the pasture cleared before I leave. However, probably the most exciting thing I've done is some beekeeping. I got all dressed up in the astronaut suit, went out to the hives with Maria (one host), and took a few frames of honey. We pick the wax off with lice combs, then spin the frames in what looks like a really big colander. The pure honey collects on the sides of the basin and drains down, into a waiting bucket.

Gustav, Belinda, Ferdinand, Edvard, Olivia, Dick, and Gertrude 

On my day off, I biked with two other WWOOFers about 20 minutes into Laholm. We continued 20 minutes more from Laholm to the beach, where I partook of the scenic views and The Saltwater Cure. It was a fairly relaxing day, minus the part where I got separated from the group and lost a few times on the way back. Then, last night, I biked with the three other WWOOFers here to the festival grounds right outside of the village of Ysby, which is maybe only 10 minutes away. We had heard there was swing and traditional Swedish dancing. Yes, there was. Only it was a lesson and all of the instructions were in, surprise, Swedish! So we just kind of danced and did our own thing, and tried very hard not to bother the people around us.

Downtown Laholm

And So the Wheel Turns

Monday the 19th of May rolls around and once again I find myself, for the third time in my life, unpinning wall decorations from a college apartment. I've got equal parts Christmas music, dubstep, and Aerosmith playing in the background, consequence of the rather unfortunate lack of internet. It's a homesick killer.

- - -

The last three days comprised a period of intense change for me and I'm not going to lie and say that I was okay. I panicked over my future two weeks in Sweden, I stressed over final packing, I was sad to say goodbye to my Ireland friends, and I was also very homesick knowing that I would not see my family for another two weeks. It was an awkward state of limbo, to know that my study abroad in Ireland had officially ended but that I was not going home. The packing really brought it into perspective. By 10 pm on Monday night, it was apparent to me that not everything in my dorm would fit in two suitcases. You'd think I would have learned a thing or two about how to reasonably handle packing from my preparations for Ireland and from my time in Ireland itself. Nope, not really. So, once again, I resorted to the age-old, tried-and-true tactic of the lost and overwhelmed college student: I called my mom. We had four phone conversations over the course of the next 5 hours, in which I endeavored to delve once more into that state of brutal self-honesty. I achieved that state. The only thing is, there is a very fine line between brutal self-honesty and total apathy--and that is a line very easily crossed. In the end, I didn't care about any item too much. It all seemed so wasteful, throwing away the perfectly good items that I couldn't donate because of an opened package. I ended up just falling asleep, and woke up early the next morning to pack with renewed vigor. I fit everything into two suitcases, with just enough time to feel elated before heading over to the hostel across the street that said they could watch my extra suitcase for two weeks. Eh, that turned out not to be the case. I told the woman at the front desk what I needed to do and her immediate response was, 'Oh God no.' In my slightly dubious mental state, exacerbated by lack of sleep, I panicked instantly: only 7 hours left to get rid of this suitcase. I think she saw that I was just about in tears because the woman at the desk was very good about calling up the tourist information office and asking if I could leave my suitcase there. Yes, they said. And relieved, I made it just out to the front yard of the hostel and lost it. I'm not ashamed. I cried out the stress for a few minutes, said 'No. I don't have time for this,' and headed up to UCC looking like death to close my bank account. I said goodbye to my Ireland friends over a pitcher of hot chocolate at Fellini's. And finally, I went on a meditative cleaning spree to ensure a positive score on the room inspector's chart. Everything that needed to get done, got done. I got up early the next morning to begin my travel day to Sweden, smoothly reached the farm I'm going to WWOOF on for the next two weeks, and now here we are, typing away. Ironically, my internet connection is better here.

Dzogchen Beara

On Saturday evening of the 17th, I returned from my few days' stay at Dzogchen Beara Tibetan Buddhist Center in West Cork. It was a spectacular experience, the first time I'd ever *really* traveled on my own, and possibly the best thing I've done in Ireland all term. The people there seemed like family, united by trust and by purpose. Dzogchen Beara is fairly remote and everybody comes with a specific, similar purpose, so it doesn't feel like the typical hostel experience. Many played instruments and participated in an impromptu Thursday night jam session. Most went to regular morning and afternoon meditation sessions.

Between meditation sessions, I went on two adventures with a couple other ladies staying in the hostel. Both involved long, muddy (but beautiful) hikes through tick-infested woods and a couple streams to get to two brilliant locations: a swimming cove and a modern castle-inspired hotel once meant to be ritzy, but never completed. It reminded us of The Shining, which on one hand made us feel like really cool explorers. On the other hand, we were kind of freaked out when we decided to hitchhike back from the abandoned hotel and the first thing we saw in the back of the truck that picked us up was a chainsaw. I got to hang on for dear life next to it.

Overall, Dzogchen Beara was a lovely place surrounded by lovely people.

A Tibetan Buddhist Adventure

Here I am, done with finals, done with my official UCC term in Ireland...and I'm not flying home for another 3 weeks. What am I doing, you ask? This is where my mom snorted and just about gave me the biggest guffaw of my life. It played out like this:

Me: Yeah, I'm going up to Dublin for a couple days to do some touring. Hit up the archaeology museum again. Heading back to Cork for a day. Then I'm going on a Tibetan Buddhist retreat. I booked myself into this hostel for a few days.

Mom: *snort* YOU DID WHAT?!?!?

Me: I'm going to spend three days at this Tibetan Buddhist center in West Cork, on the Beara peninsula. It's supposed to be beautiful.

Mom: *still snorting* WHAT are you planning on doing there?

Me: Ummmm, I....don't know?

I leave tomorrow, which is why I am posting one day early yet again. I'm heading off to the Dzogchen Beara Tibetan Buddhist center with no idea what to expect, except that there are meditation sessions in the mornings and afternoons and two wonderful cats who may sneak into the hostel cottage. I am not Buddhist. In fact, I don't really belong to any religion. I believe that all religions have their own equally valuable bits of wisdom to impart and I admire the self-discipline that often goes into practicing them. Because of this, I've always wanted to spend a few days at a religious center--and I decided that I might fit in a little better at a Tibetan Buddhist center than a convent. That is why I am going. At the very least, I hope it will be a somewhat relaxing 'collect your thoughts and prepare for the next 2.5 weeks' experience. After this, I come back to Cork for a few days to take care of The Last Things (close bank account, pay apartment fees, clean, pack, etc.), then permanently move out of my apartment early on the 21st of May. From there, I fly to Sweden and plan to spend the last two weeks volunteering on an organic farm. Which I am very excited about and slightly nervous for, as I have absolutely no experience whatsoever working on a farm. Lack of knowledge aside, I am very ready to do some practical, hands-on work.

One Day More

One Day More is my favorite song from Les Mis. So, naturally, I listen to it somewhat regularly. I was doing so yesterday when I realized how accurately it sums up finals. Lines such as:

One day more to revolution
We will nip it in the bud
We'll be ready for these schoolboys
They will wet themselves with blood

and:

Tomorrow is the judgment day

is a fairly accurate description of mental preparations for the start of finals tomorrow. Because I had so many of my final exams in the last two weeks of March, I only have three finals in May: one 3-hour final tomorrow morning, two on Friday, and then I am done for the term. This is nothing compared to what the regular UCC students have to do: the other day, my roommate's Irish engineering friend asked me how finals were going. I told him that I had 3 finals, none of them yet, that I'm still just studying. He just kind of stares at me. 'I still have 10 finals to go,' he said. Keep in mind that these aren't just regular tests--some are worth nearly 100% of one's grade. And, because UCC is on a year-long schedule (though UCC is switching to a semester schedule next year), some of those tests cover material from way back in the fall. Ouch.

Going back to the One Day More theme--and I'm not going to elaborate on this too much--in exceedingly dramatic terms, the song is also a good representation of the end of this study abroad experience. After finals end this Friday, I'm off and my friends are off. Even though I will see them again for a day or so later in May before I really leave, the end of finals is a separation point. Most people I know are excited to be heading home in a few weeks to see their families again. At the same time, I think many also consider Cork a home away from home. This is a good example of the 'double life conflictions' that I, at least, experienced as a study abroad student balancing my life back in the States with that which I've made here. I suppose that 'double life' may have the wrong connotations, but there you go. Alright, back to studying.

False Advertising at its Worst

Yesterday, I got enthused when I found a bag of Bitsa Wispa advertising its purportedly 'revolutionary' re-closable properties. 'This is great,' I thought. 'These must be just like the cool freezer bags my roommate gets at Tesco that don't have a zip-lock or anything!' I opened the bag and spent several moments trying to stick the opening back together. It was not working. So I flipped the bag over and read the label telling me just how this revolutionary technology was supposed to work. "Fold the top over and tape it." Eh, that doesn't really cut it.

Backpacking Highlights: Derry

Day 1
On the first day, I emerged from my apartment with the fat backpack I'd prepared the night before, spent a good 10 minutes double checking passport, money, electricity off, water off, room inspection-ready and nothing going to explode, and satisfied, starry-eyed, headed off to Aras Na Mac Leinn under 6 layers of clothing and a rush of adrenaline to meet my two fellow adventurers on the prime morning of our departure. Free Bird Wymana, finally taking off.

It takes us about 6 hours bus time to travel the length of the island, Cork to Derry. I don't really believe that this trip is happening until we get to Derry, and even then I'm still dubious. Our hostel is called Derry City Independent Hostel, by far the best hostel of our entire trip. Not only do we have a super-chill hostess, but we also have one of the 2 super-chill houses to ourselves. The two sitting rooms have paraphernalia from all over the world decorating the walls. One has comfy couches and a bookshelf. The other has Jenga, in which anonymous masters played one of the world's longest and most intense Jenga games that ever was played (and this girl did not lose).

Since we didn't get in until about 10 pm, most restaurants were closed. Starved without knowing it, we end up in Swanky Franky's, a small fish & chips + southern fried chicken joint with historic Derry photos lining the walls. Chips w/ curry and Heart Attack on a Plate + a very groovy radio station = full satisfaction.  An exclusive reading of 'Royal Assassin' in the hostel sitting room only made the evening better, in which our lovesick hero recounts his pathetic childhood attempts to woo the lovely Molly in his hometown of Buttkeep and a very extensive prologue.

Day 2
Derry is one of those cities which is often paired with Belfast on Northern Ireland tours because the impact of the Troubles is very evident: it was a critical point in the Irish civil rights movement. You have the Bogside murals, depicting stages in the Irish civil rights movement. You have the ancient city walls, within which only Protestants could live at one time. You have the Peace Bridge, joining the majority-Catholic and majority-Protestant sides of the river. And you have the Museum of Free Derry, which charts key events in the progression of the civil rights movements.

Derry (as is preferred by the south and the Northern Ireland Catholic population) or Londonderry (as is preferred by the unionist population) was the site of Bloody Sunday (1972), where 13 Irish civil rights protesters were shot and killed by British soldiers. This is regarded as a current event--and many of the people who give the tours around the Bogside (and many people in general) have direct connections to those directly affected by the events. On our way into Derry, it was interesting to see the 'London' part of some of the road signs with 'Londonderry' scribbled out. Tensions can still get quite high across Northern Ireland, particularly in marching season when majority unionist (mainly Protestants supporting British rule) parades occur in July and August.